Under The Floorboards

• Katriel Freudigmann, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2021

The floorboard beneath my foot creaked softly. Funny, I thought. I’d walked across this floor a million times, danced across it with my father, leapt across it while playing soldiers with my sister - it hadn’t creaked once. Never one to resist an adventure, even one as small as this, I crouched down and began tapping at the thick floorboards, trying to find the hollow one. There it is. With all the strength I could muster, I ripped the loose floorboard from its place and stared into the hollow compartment it had left. Sitting there between pieces of timber and on top of a layer of cold concrete was a tiny chest. Slowly picking it up, I opened it, coughing from the dust.

I suppose I expected some big reveal, but it wasn’t anything special: a pile of cash (I guessed $7 but I was bad at maths), a tiny black notebook, a chocolate bar, and a deck of cards (wrapped in a rainbow of rubber bands).

The chocolate bar I ate immediately - I was hungry - and the notebook I opened. Carefully. Or recklessly. It’s all a blur. I do, however, remember the contents of the notebook. One page in particular. It was a note written in Morse code on the 12th page. Do I know Morse code? I didn’t. But, turning the page, I found the translation, written with pencil in my scratchy handwriting.

"Willow, trust no one. Take the money and the cards and go to New York. You’ll know what to do. Signed Willow Eastmond."

New York? And when had I learned Morse code? Picking up the deck of cards, I removed the rubber bands to reveal the standard deck of 52 cards, sorted by suit, colour, and in order of power. Nothing was amiss with this deck, other than the meticulous sorting that could only have been done by yours truly. I put the bands back on and put the cards down again, this time reaching for the money. I slowly counted it, but it was hard without my calculator. Or my mother. $30. That wasn’t enough for a train ride to New York. What was I thinking? And when had I written this? I looked closely at the notebook again, analysing the message. Suddenly I saw it. The handwriting wasn’t mine - it was my sister’s! Our handwriting was very similar, but she crossed her Ts on a slant. And I didn’t use grammar like ‘trust no one’. Funnily, that wasn’t what had tipped me off. Right as I was about to call her, my sister Laila burst into our bedroom.

“You found it?”
I nodded slowly. “What?”
“You found my note. Remember you wanted to have an adventure like the one in your book?”
I did remember.
“I guess we’re not going to New York, then.”
“No. But let’s go into town and get ice cream. Two scoops. And bring the money.